“Where did you put those five crates?” I ask Mather.
His stance relaxes and he waves his arm out for me to follow him.
Down another hall, up two rooms, Mather stops, leading the party of Sir, Conall, Garrigan, and me. He digs a key out of his pocket and unlocks a door, swinging it wide to reveal a grime-covered space even smaller than the rooms we were just near.
But in the back stand five crates, each stuffed with lumpy pieces of Winter’s future.
I pivot to Sir. “At the ceremony tonight, bring only these five crates.”
Sir blinks. “My queen, Cordell is expecting far more than this.”
“They will get what they deserve in time. But for now . . . we have a greater need.”
Sir’s veil of formality lifts, showing a flash of his worry. “Cordell is our only ally, my queen. It is not wise to anger them.”
I know, and I almost tell him that, almost break through my fragile certainty. What I’m doing is purely the old me, something rash and careless, the part of me that snuck away to find my chakram. The part of me that wails in fury whenever I have to use my magic or Noam tightens his gripon Winter. The part of me that wants tomatter.
“Which is why I’m going to get us more allies,” I tell Sir.
It’s dangerous, but we need these resources to gain allies so we can get some leverage.
Noam will befurious.
And right now, that sounds wonderful.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Meira
DENDERA GIVES MYhair a final pat. “You’re ready.”
Nessa squeals and claps her hands over her mouth. My eyes flick to Dendera’s reflection, heartbeat hurtling back and forth in my throat. Her enthusiasm is almost as palpable as Nessa’s, if not as vocal.
I close my eyes, settle in the chair, back straight, face impassive. When I look, I will see someone capable and composed, a warrior and a leader all in one. I can be both Winter’s queen and the orphaned soldier-girl, as my act of defiance tonight against Noam will show.
I open my eyes.
My hair, half pulled behind my head in an array of braids, half curling around my shoulders, shines the most radiant white. My gown has silver clasps at the shoulders that leave my arms bare and a belt that curves tight around my waist. At my throat, nestled against the ivory bed of mycollarbone, sits Winter’s Royal Conduit, the silver, heart-shaped locket with the single white snowflake etched on the center.
I smile, trying out an expression the same way Dendera made me try on different gowns. The pretense cracks and my stomach tightens with the ever-lingering knot of worry that this is a mistake. That I’m wrong for what I have planned, that I need to not be reckless or impulsive or do things Iknoware dangerous.
But I hold that smile on my face until it aches.
I stand, smooth the pleated skirt, and follow Dendera and Nessa out of my room.
Conall and Garrigan drop in behind us, along with Henn, who takes Dendera’s hand. I sneak a grin at her, but she’s too absorbed in Henn to see.
My entourage and I weave our way through the palace, looping around to enter the ballroom through the door closest to the rear. I know what awaits us beyond it—a dais, along with Cordellan soldiers, Noam, Theron, the Autumnians, and my people, all excited for the ceremony.
I should be excited too. But a sudden surge of music makes everyone around me stiffen, as if no one is sure they’re hearing what they think they’re hearing. I tell myself to move through the door linking this hall to the ballroom, but I can’t.
This music. It’s airy and delicate, bouncing off the walls around me in a swell of unassuming perfection. If I couldput notes to the sound of flakes falling, of water crystallizing into ice, of snow gusting on the wind, this would be it.
This is what Winter sounds like.
